[THE
Coy CO]OK-MAID,
Who was Courted importunately by Irish, Welch, Spanish, French and Dutch, but at last was
conquered by a poor English Taylor.
To the Tune of, There was a brisk Lass, etc.
This may be Printed, R.P.
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[J]Oan scrub'd up her rooms, made all things clean,
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The tables, the chairs, and the edge of the skreen,
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[S]he scour'd each pispot and pewter-dish
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[Ma]de e'ry thing clean as heart could wish;
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[Th]e pewter and brass was so very clear,
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[Th]at wanting a glass, she oft drew near,
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[To] deck up her head and curle her hair,
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[Not] one amongst twenty with her could compare.
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[She] made her plumb pottage and sweet minc'd-pies,
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[The r]ost-beef was laid down when she did rise;
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[Dinn]er was ready, and lik'd so well,
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[Not] one amongst twenty could Joan excel;
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[They] prais'd her so much that Joan grew proud,
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[And th]en she began to prate aloud,
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[I will] have a husband oft she cry'd,
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[A prett]y young-man to lye by my side.
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Then out stept a Scot with blew bonnet on,
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He lookt full as big as a Spanish don
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His pistol was under his chequer'd plade,
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His whinyard was made of a Bilbo blade:
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Quoth he, bread a gad, the day's mine awn,
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Ise as bonny a fellow as e'er was knawn,
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Ise will ha this lassee before Ise gang beam,
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She'll mack me geud langkeal to fill my weam.
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He came salute her, but Joan was mad,
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And call'd the poor scotch-man a sawcy lad,
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She took up the ladle and broke his p[a]te,
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And told him he proffer'd his love too late:
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Deel blin you, quoth Sawny, you nasty slut,
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The muckl deel stop hemp in your gut,
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Ise now seck Joan to be my wife,
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She'll e'ne mack me weary of my life.
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Then a fine french-man took his place,
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His cravet and ruffles where all of lace.
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Said he, begar, me comes to dis place,
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Me be much in love vid your sweet face,
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Me no like no lady vidin this town,
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Begar, me no like dem, dey ver[y] much frown;
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Me have seen all, me tink dere's none
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Dat may be compar'd vid mistriss Joan.
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Me be resolve to lose my life
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But me vill have Joan to be my wife:
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Joan look'd about, and then reply'd,
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The devil shall be the french-man's bride;
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March to your portage you finical knave,
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I'll ne'r go to France to be your slave;
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Get you out of the kitchin, or else by Mars
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This swinging spit shall run through your a------
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Poor monsieur lookt blank and sneakt away,
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For his wife nor his life he durst not stay;
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Then enter'd an irish man and swore
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The noise of her beauty brought him o're;
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My naam ish Teague, and by my shalwaashon,
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I prize dy faash 'bove all to de Naashon,
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Den preddee dear joy come kish my shweet faash,
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By shaint Phaatrick I never will leave this plaash.
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I have a potato plat of my own,
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An a shneeshing-boxh, 'tish very well known;
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I have a schullogue to run by my shide,
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I fait and trote thou shalt be my bride.
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Be gone bogg-trotter, then Joan did cry,
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Or the brom-stick shall on your shoulders lie,
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Pack up your awle, and make short of your story,
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Or I'll make you pay dear for your vain-glory.
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A seaman from Holland then enter'd the l[ist,]
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As drunken a rascal as ever pist;
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He brought in his hand a bottle of Nans,
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And swore 'twas the famousest liquor in Fra[nce;]
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'Twill make you Dutch spraagen before it b[e noon]
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Be gone (said she) you drunken clown,
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I'll pull the blew rug from off your pate,
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If you offer to stay with Joan to prate.
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And then Jack Spaniard began to vapour,
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With a mighty short cloak and a very long rap[ier]
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He offer'd his service and proudly did strut,
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But Joan went and gave him a kick with her f[oot]
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Ye insolent dog (quoth she) be gone,
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There's none I hate more then a Spanish don,
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I mean not to wait upon such a proud sinner
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Whilst he is pamp'ring his guts at dinner.
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The welch-man hearing the rest were gone,
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Resolv'd that he would be with her anon,
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With leek in his hat, on St. Taffys day
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He came to Joan, and thus he did say:
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Hur was a prave shentleman in Wales,
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Hur has a tood land, cots-plurter-a-nails,
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Hur has a fine goat, and hur makes sheese,
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Was hur makes hur a lady if now hur please.
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But Joan protested she hated them all,
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And swore to be at an english man's call;
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She knew their humours and did not doubt
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But same or other would chuse her out;
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At last she married a taylor good lord,
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And he the greazy frigat did board,
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They both were well pleas'd and kindly agreed,
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And she from the rest of her suitors was freed.
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